“Such a page turner. Couldn't put it down. Read all night — sleep is for the weak when it comes to Errin Krystal's writing.”
— Five-Star Amazon Review
Georgia Bailey just lost everything — the boyfriend, the fortune, the London life. All that's left: her grandparents' vineyard, a grumpy chef who used to be her sweetheart, and one relentlessly sunbathing kangaroo.
London socialite Georgia Bailey just lost everything — the estranged father who abandoned her after her mother died, the rock-star boyfriend whose career she built from nothing, and her multi-million-dollar fortune.
Now penniless, she's forced to return to her grandparents' vineyard in rural Australia and the waitressing job she left behind. But fitting back into her former life isn't going to be easy, and things aren't quite the way she left them.
Her teenage sweetheart, now barely speaking to her, is the hot, grumpy chef she has to work for. Her childhood pet is a full-grown kangaroo that won't stop sunbathing in the parking lot. And the vineyard, as it turns out, is in serious financial trouble.
But Georgia already lost one family this year. She's not about to lose another one — not if she can help it.
Falling Down Under is a coming-home romantic comedy, recommended for fans of Lauren Landish and Sandra Bullock's Hope Floats.
The Reviews Are In
People love this book.
“
Like spending a day with close friends after not seeing them for a while. The book took me through the full range of emotions but left me with a warm, satisfied feeling.
Kindle Customer Five-Star Amazon Review
“
Errin Krystal understands life, human feelings, social media and food. I longed to eat some of those meals she describes.
Amazon Customer Five-Star Amazon Review
“
Really enjoyed this read. Fell in love with most of the characters. Developed hatred for others — but they got what they deserved.
Alisha Five-Star Amazon Review
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Georgia stared at the chip in her nail polish. The black, gold-flecked paint was scratched and peeling where she had jammed it in the door of a taxi.
A thousand-dollar manicure. Ruined.
She scraped away another flake, watching the fragment fall to the crisp linen of her father’s London hospital bed.
“Miss Bailey?”
Georgia swiped at her tired eyes and brushed her tangled hair from her face. She turned to smile at the nurse, a thin woman with salt-and-pepper hair wearing gray linen scrubs. A silver fob watch was pinned to her left breast pocket, just below the tag, naming her ‘Louise.’
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you take a break? Take a walk, get some coffee? Go home and take a shower maybe?”
Georgia glanced down at herself. She was still wearing the same clothes she had been in when she got the call. A slinky gold-sequined dress, with a plunging neckline and barely-there straps. A sleek pair of black pumps with an oversized bow on the front—her favorite pair—were discarded carelessly on the floor with her designer purse. She had been heading home after a wild night of partying at a friend-of-a-friend’s club in Milan at four in the morning when the call came: Harrison Bailey, media mogul and CEO of Bailey International, had suffered a stroke and fallen into a coma.
She’d headed straight to the airport.
That had been over forty-eight hours ago.
She had arrived to find her father hooked up to an array of beeping monitors, with colored tubes and wires attached everywhere on his body. He had looked so small, so fragile. It had taken everything in her to still the trembling of her hands, tear her gaze away from his vital signs, and listen to his doctors.
She hadn’t left his side since.
Georgia looked again to her father’s frail form lying in the bed. “I don’t want to leave him.”
Louise moved forward and picked up his chart, flipping through the pages. “He’s unlikely to wake up anytime soon, if that’s your concern. We’ll call you if there’s any change. But a bit of fresh air will do you good.”
Georgia nodded, stood, and gathered her discarded shoes before fishing around for her phone and brushing the gold flakes from her father’s bed.
“All right, I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Of course, Miss Bailey.”
Georgia returned forty-seven minutes later, washed clean of the cloying stink of stale sweat and airport travel, her face scrubbed clear of smeared and crusted make-up, her hair brushed and styled hastily in a messy bun on top of her head. She picked at the polish of her nails again, walking briskly through the brightly illuminated corridor. Her feet scuffed along the ugly gray linoleum in well-worn ballet flats.
Party-girl socialite Georgia Bailey would be unrecognizable to her one hundred and twelve million followers in her black leggings and the oversized hoodie that once belonged to her high-school boyfriend. It was still comforting and warm, even if the printed logo of the small-town football team she long gave up following was all but faded away.
She stopped at the cafeteria, bought herself what had to be the worst coffee she had ever tasted, and headed toward her father’s room.
As Georgia neared, she turned toward the sound of feet thudding down the hallway, only to be knocked aside. The plastic lid came free of the Styrofoam coffee cup, spilling the scalding beverage.
“Shit!” She dabbed at the burning coffee on her pants, grimacing as the heat seeped into her thigh. Another nurse raced past and Georgia heard the high-pitched wail of heart monitors. Dumping the coffee in the nearest bin, she ran.
As she got closer to her father’s room, Georgia recognized her stepmother’s voice, shouting at the doctors in her shrill tone. She hadn’t seen the woman since she arrived.
“Do something!”
Georgia turned the corner into the room and her heart lodged in her chest.
She watched in shock as the doctors worked, her heart pounding. The nurses pushed Georgia and her stepmother from the room. She saw the doctor inject something into the drip. The monitor screeched and another doctor started compressions.
The door slammed closed.
“Rosalie? What … I was just here. What’s happening?”
Rosalie turned, her face pinched in anger. “Why are you even here?”
Without waiting for an answer, the older woman stalked away.
✦
Chapter Two
It was barely seven in the morning and the sun was struggling to rise through dark clouds. Georgia sat on the green metal bench outside the hospital. She watched the pouring rain flood the parking lot. A taxi sprayed water onto the curb as it drove through the large puddles.
The goosebumps along her arms told her she was cold, but she didn’t feel it.
She felt nothing.
Georgia watched the water flow back off the curb and down the drain.
She used to love the earthy scent of rain—petrichor, her father had once told her the smell was called. As a child, she would sit with him and watch the raindrops travel down the window of their apartment, waiting impatiently to go out outside and smell the rain with him.
She wouldn’t ever smell the rain with him again.
She gripped her phone tightly between both hands where they rested on a plastic bag. It contained her father’s personal effects: blue plaid pajamas and a pair of worn orange socks.
Rosalie had left the building hours ago after the doctor delivered the news that Harrison Bailey had not been able to be resuscitated—leaving Georgia standing rooted to the spot in the hallway until a sympathetic nurse handed her the plastic bag that now rested on her lap.
With shaking hands, she unlocked her phone and dialed the familiar phone number, with the addition of the U.S. country code.
Jax Donahue, her boyfriend of four years, answered after what felt like an eternity.
“Hello.” His sleepy voice slurred through the phone, the rustling of his blankets scratching loudly over the speaker.
“It’s me,” she whispered, wondering if he could even hear her over the rain. It was getting heavier. Louder.
“Georgia? What … you realize it’s two in the morning here right?”
“I’m at the hospital.”
“Oh shit. Are you all right? What happened? Did you take something?” She heard him shuffling in his bed, a loud bang, Jax swearing, then what sounded like a light switch clicking on.
“Jax?”
“Georgia, what’s wrong?”
He was awake now. She could hear the panic in his voice. “I’m fine. I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s my dad. He had a stroke, which led to cardiac complications. He died, Jax.”
“Oh babe, I’m so sorry. Is someone with you?”
“No. Rosalie left.”
“What about Miranda or Allegra? Have you called them?”
“Not yet.” She took a deep breath. “Can you please come home?”
Jax was silent for several minutes, and she wondered if he had fallen back to sleep. Then he answered, speaking the two words she knew he would say. The two words he always said. “I can’t.”
Her heart sank. Jax was on tour with his band in the U.S. She knew she shouldn’t be asking this of him. The tour was a huge deal; he couldn’t just drop everything for her. Yet she still desperately wanted him there with her.
“Jax, I need you.” She hated those words—hated herself a little more each time she said them, knowing what he would say but saying them anyway.
“There’s no need to be so melodramatic, Georgia.”
Her grip tightened on the phone. “My father just died.”
She heard him sigh heavily through the speaker. “Look, I’m sorry. I really am. But I can’t right now. It’s not like you two were that close anyway.”
“What? How can you say that?”
“It’s true and you know it. When was the last time you even spoke to him?”
“I … I don’t know.”
Georgia felt a stab of pain in her chest. She thought she’d have more time. Time to fix things. To mend their fractured relationship. She couldn’t even remember the last time she spoke to him. Six months ago? A year? More?
“Babe, look, I’ll be home at the end of the week.”
“Can you at least come for the funeral?”
“Georgia.”
She hated that tone—the one he used when he thought she was being petulant and childish.
“Please,” she told him. “I can’t do this without you.” Disgust roiled in her gut at her own begging. She loathed feeling this way, but she couldn’t stop the words that fell from her lips.
“We’re on the last leg of the tour. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“It would just be for a day.” A day wasn’t too much. He had plenty of time between gigs. Jax could easily meet the band in the next city. But a weight settled in her chest. She knew what his next response would be.
“I wish I could.” He paused, then said, “I miss you.”
He was just placating her with empty apologies. He wasn’t coming home.
She hung up the phone without a word. Georgia stared down at the phone, hoping it might ring, that he might change his mind.
He didn’t call back.
✦
Chapter Three
Four days later, she stood in the drizzling rain by the family plot on her father’s sprawling country estate. The house, company, and everything that came with it had been inherited by the young Harrison Bailey from his father. The world expected the daughter of Harrison Bailey to take the reins, to build upon her family legacy. It’s what her father had wanted.
A younger version of herself had wanted it, too. But that was a long time ago.
She hadn’t been here in years, and the thought of coming back had filled her heart with icy dread. She wasn’t even sure her father would have wanted her to come, their relationship being as broken as it had been.
Besides, the manor had never been a home to her.
He’d met Georgia’s mother on a business trip to Australia. After they married, he moved there permanently, making regular trips back to London for work, but never to stay, and never to the family manor. Georgia had been born and raised on the other side of the world.
Harrison had only moved back to England when he remarried.
Georgia cast a glance at her stepmother. Rosalie sobbed loudly, while her daughter, Charlotte, clung sniffling at her side.
Georgia stood shivering in the rain, feeling nothing. Numb.
She wished Jax were here.
She didn’t cry. Not a single tear marred her cheek; her pristine make-up remained unsullied.
She dug her nails so hard into her palm they bled, trying to force some tears out through sheer pain. Crescent-shaped cuts were all she got for her effort.
“Georgia, stop.” Gentle fingers pried her hands apart. Her friends stood at her side. Allegra slipped her hand into hers and Miranda gave her arm a soft squeeze. Miranda had left the filming of her new movie to be here. Her friend was a big deal on the indie-horror scene, having dropped out of Oxford after six months to pursue acting. A gamble that had paid off.
“It’s okay.” Allegra whispered. “You have nothing to prove here.”
It was hard to cry over a man she hardly had a relationship with anymore. They had drifted so far apart they barely knew each other. After her mother died, it was like he shut down. She had always thought they would have time to fix what had been broken. One day.
But now that day would never come.
It left a hollow ache in her gut.
The service ended and the mourners left, taking with them their snide whispers of ‘terrible girl’ and ‘ungrateful daughter.’
She laid a long-stemmed white rose on the cherry-wood casket.
“Rest in peace, Dad.”
Georgia turned and walked away.
◆
A week after the funeral, she found herself in the office of her father’s lawyer. Jax had come home a few days ago, yet here she was, facing the task ahead on her own. Jax had been too busy laying down tracks for his new album to spare her a few hours of emotional support during her father’s will reading.
Mr. Dunn, a long-nosed, weasel-like little man, squirmed in his seat while Rosalie and Charlotte sat smugly across from her. Even though Georgia was only one year older, the two girls had never gotten along. Charlotte was too vain and vapid; the girl barely had two brain cells to rub together. Even indulging in small talk was like pulling teeth.
“Are you sure?” Georgia asked. “That can’t be right. Surely.”
“I am sorry, Miss Bailey, but it says it right here. Everything. The estates, the company … all of it is to be left to Mrs. Rosalie Bailey.”
Georgia looked at the section Mr. Dunn indicated. Her seat on the board, her family legacy—gone. The amendment date was the day after her father was admitted to the hospital, before she had arrived.
“That can’t be legal. There’s no way he was of sound mind.” She glared across the table at her stepmother. “Did he even know what he was signing?”
Rosalie rolled her eyes and scoffed, picking invisible lint from her blouse. “Darling girl, stop acting like this is a surprise. You and my dear husband were hardly close.”
“He was still my father!”
“You didn’t even cry at the funeral,” Charlotte interjected, her prissy blonde countenance making Georgia’s blood boil.
“At least I didn’t howl like a dying banshee,” Georgia shot back.
“A what?”
“You know, Charlotte, you really shouldn’t cry in public. Those blotchy tabloid photos were utterly horrendous.”
“How dare you!”
“That’s quite enough, Miss Bailey,” the lawyer interrupted. “Your father’s will dictates that everything be left to Rosalie. I’m sorry.”
“What about my trust? Surely there’s something.” Her father couldn’t have meant to leave her destitute. He hadn’t stopped caring altogether, had he? She was still his daughter.
Mr. Dunn cleared his throat and refused to meet her gaze when he spoke. “There is no trust.”
She blinked, confusion washing over her. “What?”
The lawyer shuffled his papers. “When he amended the will, your trust was dissolved as well. I’m sorry, but that is your father’s signature. See?”
She leaned over; sure enough, it was her father’s scrawl. Stunned, she sat back in her chair.
This can’t be happening.
“Why would he do that?” Her words were almost a whisper, and a knot formed in her stomach.
Rosalie’s waspish tone cut through her thoughts. “It pained your father to do it, but he couldn’t trust you. Your excessive partying, the drugs, and the men. You were out of control, Georgia, so he took everything back. You are hardly what the company needs, and he felt that having your own money would only enable you to spiral further.”
“This is bullshit!” Georgia stood, slamming her open palms on the solid oak table, focusing her gaze on her stepmother. “I’ve been clean for over two years.”
“And you’re still a mess. He deserved better than you as a daughter.”
Her whole body trembled as Rosalie looked her up and down with a sneer. Georgia stormed from the office, ignoring Mr. Dunn calling for her to come back. Angry tears flowed down her cheeks as the rage shook through her.
She wiped away the tears as a half-hysterical laugh burst from her chest. She couldn’t muster a single tear for her fathers funeral, but Rosalie had no problems ripping them from her with a handful of cruel words.
She squeezed her fists tight, taking deep, even breaths as she stepped out onto the street—straight into the flash of a dozen cameras.
“Piss off, you vultures!” Georgia snapped, holding her hand up to block out the blinding lights.
The door behind her opened and out stepped Rosalie and Charlotte, once again playing the parts of the grieving widow and bereaved daughter.
“You won’t get away with this,” Georgia said with more conviction than she felt. “I’ll fight this; I’ll get the best damn lawyer there is.”
Rosalie smiled sweetly. “With what money, dear?”
Georgia reeled like she had been slapped, the false bravado slipping away. She had nothing, and Rosalie knew it. How had she ended up at the mercy of this woman? She looked up to her stepmother’s smug face, then down at her own hands, still balled into fists. “What am I supposed to do now?” She sounded like she had when she was begging Jax to come home. Small and helpless. She hated it.
Charlotte took a step forward, the taller girl leaning close to Georgia’s ear. “Why don’t you crawl back to that backwards town your money-grubbing mother came from?”
An icy fury burned, slowly igniting in Georgia’s chest. Georgia lifted her head to stare into Charlotte’s grinning face. On top of everything else that had happened today, this was just too much. Too far. Insulting her mother’s memory? She couldn’t take it.
Georgia lunged at Charlotte, grabbed her hair, and yanked the girl’s head back, hard. Charlotte screamed and tried to break free of Georgia’s grip. But Georgia was fast, and her fist connected with Charlotte’s jaw.
Charlotte stumbled back and they both fell to the pavement in a shrieking mass.
Georgia was yanked back by her hair until she fell hard on her ass. Rosalie stood over her, her nostrils flaring, her chest heaving so hard Georgia thought it might burst out of her blouse. “And you wonder why you were such a disappointment to him.”
Georgia took a shaking breath as the cameras clicked and flashed.
✦
Chapter Four
She walked home, her strappy Louboutins hanging from her fingers and her left eye sporting what would no doubt be a decent shiner by the time she got there.
She weaved in and out of side streets, miraculously avoiding any more paparazzi, and arrived at her apartment building twenty-two minutes later. She headed straight for the elevator and acknowledged Curtis, the concierge, as she pressed the number for her floor, releasing a long breath.
Georgia counted the floors as the numbers lit up, thinking only of soaking away this horrid day with a nice hot bath. She had some exquisitely scented bath oils Miranda had sent her from Paris. She pulled her phone from her pocket and sent a message to the text chain she had with Allegra and Miranda.
Georgia: Home now. In desperate need of chocolate and wine.
The door pinged open to the penthouse suite she shared with Jax. A quick glance into his recording studio told her he wasn’t home. So much for being too busy to come with her today.
She stepped barefoot into the apartment. Hopefully she wasn’t leaving dirty smudges on the polished cement flooring—Jax’s design choice, definitely not hers. Walking barefoot through London was probably not the best decision, but she hadn’t been making many of those these past two weeks.
As she dropped her shoes by the couch, her phone started buzzing.
Allegra: How did it go? Is everything all right?
Miranda: You OK?
Georgia: Effectively disinherited apparently. Hence, chocolate and wine. As OK as I can be I guess.
She passed through the kitchen, nabbed three chocolate biscuits from the glass jar, and poured herself a glass of wine.
Miranda: I wish I was there, I could use my kickboxing skills on that bitch Rosalie. But alas, reshoots, ugh! So sorry Gia!
Georgia: I appreciate it, but no need. I got a few hits in… I’m sure it’s online already…
Allegra: Oh, Georgia, no! I’m sure it was that horrible woman’s doing. Your dad would never do that.
Georgia stared at Allegra’s comment. She hoped it was Rosalie, but now she would never be sure. She took a long sip of her wine.
Miranda: OMG, I am sooo looking for those pictures when I’m done here!
Allegra: Do you want company? Henry and I could come in. Might take a couple hours but we could be there by dinner.
Miranda: Maybe leave Henry at home for this one Allegra, you know he gets weird around female tears.
Allegra: Haha, yes, very true.
Georgia smiled down at the messages. She was lucky to have them both.
Georgia: Thanks for the offer, but Jax will be home soon. I’ll be OK.
Allegra: OK, but you call me if you change your mind.
Georgia: I will. Thanks ladies. I love you both!
She moved toward the bathroom, avoiding the mirror. She did not want to see the bruise blooming across her aching cheek. The pain was enough.
She shoved one of the biscuits whole into her mouth as she filled the bath. All three were gone by the time the water filled the tub.
Ten minutes later, she slipped a pair of earbuds into her ears and lowered her tense and aching body into the warm, soothing water. She sipped her wine, the calming tunes in her ears relaxing her. For a short time, she cleared her mind, temporarily blocking out the stresses of the day. Georgia sank further into the tub.
“What the fuck is this!”
Her eyes snapped open as Jax’s angry voice broke through the tranquility of her bath. Water sloshed over the sides of the tub as she sat up too fast, his phone shoved too close to her face.
“What?” She snatched the phone from his grip and ripped her earbuds out.
He glared at her, arms crossed, face flushed with rage. He tapped his foot in agitation, still wearing his sneakers. With a second glance, she realized he must have been out running. He stood at the edge of her bath in track pants and a hoodie, his black hair slightly damp.
“Read it!”
Georgia stared at the article, wincing at the picture. She looked absolutely insane. Eyes wide, teeth bared, her hands pulling at Charlotte’s hair. It was worse than she’d thought.
The headline read: ‘Socialite? Or social disaster?’
“Oh shit.” She scrolled further, cringing away from the photos.
‘Bailey heiress in streetside brawl!’
‘@TheGeorgieB loses half her followers in an hour!’ That one included a screenshot of her Instagram account.
‘Party girl Bailey. Relapse?’ Photos of her from that one-time stint in rehab were plastered next to the new photos from earlier that day.
“Yes, oh shit. What the hell, Georgia!”
She handed back the phone, taking the towel he now held out for her. “It’s not like I invited the press to my father’s will reading, you know.” She stepped out of the tub, dropped her phone and earbuds on the bathroom counter, and pushed past him into their bedroom. Rummaging through her drawers, she tossed a pair of leggings and a T-shirt onto the bed next to a fresh pair of underwear.
Jax stood in the doorway, arms crossed, as she dressed. Wrapping the towel around her head, she turned back to him. But he spoke before she could get any more words out.
“This can’t go on anymore, Georgia. This kind of publicity—”
“Don’t be dramatic, Jax. It’s not the first time the paparazzi have caught a less-than-flattering picture of me.”
“But fighting?” He ran a hand through his hair, the damp strands falling back over his face. His dark eyes focused on her. “Babe, you know I love you, but I don’t think this is working anymore.”
Georgia stopped moving, her gaze meeting his. Surely, he couldn’t mean what it sounded like he meant. “Are you serious?”
He looked away and her heart clenched in her chest; nausea welled in her gut. Was he really doing this to her? Now?
“Your actions affect me too. My career, my image, my brand? Your exploits make me look bad. Frankie says—”
“Screw Frankie. That bitch hates me, Jax. She always has. She’s your manager, not your mother.”
He still wasn’t looking at her. “Georgia … ”
“Look at me,” she snapped, teetering somewhere between rage and heartbreak.
Jax didn’t look up. “The partying, the … everything.”
“Look at me, Jax! If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, then at least look at me when you do it.” Please don’t be saying it.
“I mean, you punched a girl today. Frankie says this kind of constant scandal can make or break my music career at this point.”
“The career you wouldn’t have if not for me. Whose money paid for all the recording sessions, the demo tapes? Whose connections opened doors for you, got your first gig, paid Frankie’s first pay check? Where would Jax Donahue be without my father’s money?” She stepped up to him. “Look at me!” She shoved his shoulder and he backed out of the room, finally looking at her.
“I can’t do this anymore, worrying about what you’re going to do next, what latest scandal of yours will be splashed across the tabloids. The parties, the drugs, the rehab.”
“You know I haven’t touched that stuff in two years, Jax, and you were right there with me if I remember. You weren’t always the clean-cut, pop sensation. Far from it. You were as high as a fucking kite the night we met!”
“Every time you pull something like this, my career suffers, Georgia. Sales drop, and I get pulled into question. The tabloids dredge up every scandalous thing you’ve ever done. I have an image to maintain and with the new album about to drop, I can’t have the negative feedback on our personal relationship. It’s over. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair again, sighing heavily. “I really am sorry about today, and about your dad. Take a few days to get yourself together, but you need to leave.”
Georgia grabbed the first thing she could reach, a hairbrush, and launched it across the room. Jax put up his hands to dodge the projectile.
“Fuck you!” She picked up a shoe and threw it. Jax backed out the door, and a moment later, she heard the elevator ping.
Anger and grief engulfed her and she slid to the floor at the end of the bed. Tears burned their way down her cheeks. Four years together and this is how it ended. He chose his career over her. Barely two weeks after her father died.
Her chest ached. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. She was losing everything, and the one person she was supposed to be able to rely on just broke up with her. Just like that. Like he was giving up carbs or deciding to go on a juice cleanse.
Clean-cut, straight-laced, pop sensation Jax Donahue was done with her. He’d still be playing in shitty pubs if it wasn’t for her.
The room was suddenly too suffocating, too filled with mementos of their life together. The watch she bought him for his last birthday. The first-edition books lining her bookshelf. Jewelery. Bags. Photo frames filled with pictures from holidays and Christmases and birthdays.
She couldn’t take it. She needed to leave, get out of the apartment, out of the city. Out of the country.
She scrambled to her feet, tore out of the bedroom to grab her phone from the bathroom counter, then found her purse and flopped down on the couch.
Plane tickets. She needed a plane ticket. To anywhere.
She scrolled through the options. Paris? Why not. Miranda had a flat there. She punched in her card number to buy the first-class ticket.
Declined.
She frowned, confused. Georgia pulled out another card.
Declined.
She tried two more cards.
Declined. Declined.
She called the after-hours customer service.
All her cards. Cancelled.
Cards her father had given her. Rosalie had cancelled them all.
A new wave of desolation washed over her. She had nothing. Definitely not enough cash for a plane ticket. She sank back into the couch, staring blankly at the cards now scattered over the cushions, and a heaviness settled in her chest.
What now?
She could sell her jewelry, her clothes? It might get her enough for a ticket out of London. She laughed bitterly at herself. She could see it now, photos of her in a pawn shop splashed across the tabloids. What was another scandal attached to the Bailey heiress? There were already so many.
But how long would that money last? What would she do when it ran out?
Georgia glanced down at her phone.
She could call Miranda? No. Miranda was finishing up her movie, and she’d already dropped everything to attend the funeral.
Allegra?
No, not her either. She had enough on her plate between trying to wrangle a wedding date out of Henry and her numerous charity commitments. Allegra was busy enough; she didn’t need to nurse her messed-up friend through a break up.
There was one other person she could call. She was reluctant, but she had no other choice.
She punched in the number, hoping the fact that she hadn’t called in over a year wouldn’t make the favor she was about to ask seem like too much.
She hung up before it started ringing. How many more people was she going to beg? Would they even pick up the phone? Georgia started dialing again, then tossed her phone down on the couch in frustration after pressing two numbers. She tilted her head toward the ceiling and closed her eyes. This was her only option.
Georgia opened her eyes and picked up the phone, took a deep breath and dialed the number.
The phone rang for what felt like an age. Tears pricked at her eyes, spilling down her cheeks, when a sleepy voice finally answered.
“Hello?”
“Nan? It’s Georgia. I need help.”
Then she fully broke down.
✦
Chapter Five
Dragging out her suitcases, Georgia roughly shoved as much as she could into two large cases. She made the painful decision to leave behind most of her party dresses and shoes and pretty much anything Jax had even given her. There wouldn’t be much use for them in rural Australia anyway.
After she had pulled herself together enough to speak, she had sniffled through the details of the will reading and Jax’s less than eloquent dumping mere hours later. She had explained to her grandmother that she needed a ticket out of London.
Marjorie Scott had immediately begun fussing and had instantly called the airline from her granddad’s phone, keeping Georgia on the line to whisper soft words of comfort.
The end result being that she now had a plane ticket waiting for her at Heathrow.
She cleared the bathroom of all her expensive shampoos and bath oils, zipping up her over-packed cases.
She dragged Jax’s smaller case from the top cupboard, stuffing it full of essentials. Books, laptop, extra underwear and toothbrush, deodorant. Travel could be an unhygienic business and twenty-three hours on a plane required a little refreshing.
Curtis, the doorman, buzzed to let her know her cab was waiting downstairs.
Georgia slipped on a comfortable pair of track pants and her favorite worn hoodie, piling on the concealer to cover up the darkening bruise under her right eye. She went to Jax’s bedside table and pulled out an old lolly tin he kept emergency cash in. Not that a pop star needed to have such things, but he kept it anyway. Old habits and all that.
She took only enough for her cab fare and an airport sandwich. She wouldn’t have him adding theft to her supposed list of undesirable qualities. Besides, she already took his suitcase.
The one she had bought him.
She returned the money and tin to his sock drawer and awkwardly dragged the three cases to the elevator.
She left no note and didn’t look back as the door slid closed.
◆
She was early, but she had wanted out of the apartment as soon as possible.
Her luggage was checked without much ado, but she heard her name being whispered as she made her way through customs.
Georgia tugged her hood lower over her head doing her best to avoid people’s stares. She did not feel up to fending off overzealous photographers right now.
She took what change remained after her cab fare and bought a pre-packaged sandwich and bottled water. The eyes of the girl behind the counter widened as Georgia passed over the money.
Finding her way to the economy lounge, she curled up on a chair. She would not complain about how uncomfortable the seats were.
Georgia chewed on her sandwich, allegedly chicken and cheese, although it seemed to lack anything that might pass as chicken. Swallowing her food, she glanced at her boarding pass.
Australia.
She had spent most of her childhood and adolescence there. She and her parents had spent every school holiday and plenty of weekends at her grandparents’ vineyard, driving down from the city. It had been ten years since she’d been back. Not since the accident. Back when her mother was alive and her father could still bear to look at her
Rosalie and Jax hadn’t been wrong that she wasn’t close with her father. She had fond memories of him as a child, but after her mother died, Harrison had moved them back to the U.K. permanently. He had dumped her in a boarding school for her final year of high school and then all but forgot she had ever existed.
She brushed her fingers across the faded scar that slashed across her left eyebrow.
Her phone pinged with notifications—tags of her in articles. About the fight. About her father. Give it a few hours for Jax to realize she was gone and then the tweets and trolls would be on her for that too.
With a few taps, she muted all social media and blocked his number, unable to delete it completely.
Georgia Bailey, heiress and social media sensation, was officially offline. She sent a quick message to Miranda and Allegra, the only two of her friends who had bothered to check in after the quickly escalating media frenzy.
What was a social media influencer without her followers? How long until she faded into obscurity?
Did she even care?
Her flight was announced and she uncurled from her chair. Boarding the plane, she settled into her seat, smiling at the young boy and his mother in her aisle. The woman gasped loudly before clamping a hand over her mouth and stumbling over an apology. Then she offered Georgia a piece of chewing gum.
Georgia politely accepted.
As the plane took to the air, she felt like she could breathe again.
Perhaps obscurity was what she needed right now.
✦
Chapter Six
Jared pinched the bridge of his nose against the stupidity of people as he reviewed the meat delivery.
The driver checked over his invoices for the third time. “Nope, says here ‘ten kilos of chicken breast, skin off.’”
“And I’m telling you I didn’t order chicken. I ordered lamb, scotch fillet, and market fish. No chicken. I don’t want it.”
“Come on, man, can’t you do a special or something?”
“I could, but I won’t, since I did not order chicken. See?” Jared waved his own order pad at the driver.
“Fine!” the guy muttered, kicking the extra box back onto his trolley and slamming out of the kitchen.
“Geeze, chef, someone’s in a mood. Haven’t had your coffee yet or something?”
Jared turned to the girl behind him. Lara, his apprentice, was barely twenty and already one of the best he’d trained. She was a genius with desserts.
Her bubble-gum pink buttons stood out against the black of her chef jacket, with matching boot laces and bandana. Brightly dyed magenta hair spiked out the top. For someone so young, she had a big personality.
He honestly wouldn’t want to tangle with her in a dark alley.
“Had three already. It’s not helping.” He gestured to the half-empty mug of cold coffee.
Lara raised a brow, staring at him with dark eyes. “It’s barely nine, dude! I will not have you spazzing out on caffeine like the day of twelve by twelve!”
“That was one time!”
“Yeah, and I had to tell the waiters not to give you anymore. You were awful!”
Jared shrugged. “It was a busy day. Tastes of the Valley if I recall.”
“Yeah, well, Blue and I had to put up with your crazy. I did not enjoy that day.”
“Don’t you have prep to do? I’m sure you have better things to do than give your boss shit about his coffee consumption.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it. No bookings today though.”
“Speaking of Blue, where is he, anyway?”
Lara grinned. “Went over to pick up the wine order from cellar door.” She looked at a bright pink watch. “That was about a half hour ago.”
“Right.”
“I think you can guess what happened.”
“Yep. Get started on those brulees, and check the panna cottas. I think they need to get thrown. I’ll go find our missing sous.”
“No worries, chef.” Lara tapped her hand to her head in mock salute and began pulling out pots and measuring jugs.
Jared untied his apron, tossing it on the narrow bench that he classed as his office, and headed over to cellar door, crossing the brick-paved carpark. A big gray kangaroo lay sprawled across two empty spaces.
“Come on, Boomer. I know it’s quiet, but the car park? Really?” The roo stared back at him with dark eyes and remained where he was. Jared shook his head and kept moving.
He pushed through the glass doors, the cool air rushing past him. He saw Blue immediately, leaning across the counter. His mop of bright orange curls and the fact the guy stood well over six feet tall meant he was easily distinguishable in a crowd or an empty cellar door.
Blue had been the sous chef at Seven Sisters for the last four years, a born and bred local. Blue’s affinity for all things pop culture and love of trashy tabloids kept Jared and Lara well entertained during long, slow restaurant shifts, whether they liked it or not.
Currently, Blue’s attention was focused fully on the man behind the counter, his hand cupped to his own cheek, listening intently to whatever it was Isaac, the new cellar door manager, was saying.
Jared sighed. “Blue! Flirt on your own time, mate!”
Blue scrambled to his feet, a blush tinging his pale face while Isaac just grinned. Isaac had only started a few weeks ago, having moved from the city. He knew almost as much as Joe about the history of the local wines and had been a big hit with those stopping by for wine tastings. He seemed like a friendly guy, with a wide smile, dark hair, dark eyes, and an olive complexion.
Blue was absolutely smitten.
“Jared, yeah, sorry. I was just … wine. I was getting the wine.” He turned back to Isaac who slid the box across to him, tucking a slip of paper into Blue's hand, his lips curling into a smile as Blue’s face reddened further before he hurried out the door. Isaac watched him leave, then headed back out to the stockroom, leaving Jared alone, grinning to himself.
“He’s going to get you back one of these days, you know?”
Joe Scott, owner and operator of Seven Sisters Vineyard and Restaurant, stood in the doorway to the office. He was a short, bespectacled man of later years, with a full head of snow-white hair. He was a kind and generous man, having only stepped down from his position as head winemaker three years ago at the insistence of his wife. Though Jared knew from his own father and brother that the old man hadn’t quite been able to step away completely.
“Not likely, I don’t make a habit of dating co-workers,” Jared said.
They both laughed and turned as Joe’s wife, Marjorie, hurried through the doors jingling a set of keys that held way too many key rings. She wasn’t a woman who got flustered easily, so it had always amused Jared when she did, ever since he was a child. Her once chocolate-brown hair was now mostly gray, and she had a deceptively easy way about her—Marjorie Scott was well versed in cowing a person with a simple narrowing of her dark eyes. Jared knew this from experience.
“I’m heading out to get Georgia from the station. Need anything while I’m out?”
Georgia.
“Georgia’s coming to visit?” Jared’s voice came out strained, quiet, and it didn’t go unnoticed.
Marjorie smiled softly at him. “She’s going to stay a while. There’s been a bit of a situation with the will and that boyfriend of hers. It’s a mess." She checked her watch. "I have to go, sorry.”
Georgia Bailey. His first friend and first kiss. First fumbling foray into sex. The first girl he ever gave his heart to and the first girl who ever broke it.
“Jared? I take it Marjorie didn’t mention our Georgie girl was coming home?”
Jared snapped his gaze to Joe. “No, but why would she? It’s got nothing to do with me.”
“Jared.”
He hated the way Joe was suddenly staring at him. “We were kids. It was years ago.” Ten years and three months, not that he was counting.
“You were nineteen and she broke your heart.”
Jared ran a hand up the back of his neck. The downside of his family living and working on the Seven Sisters property for two generations was that he had no secrets. “I have to get back to the kitchen. Who knows what mess Lara has made with those brulees?”
